


Upon the Lion Seat

by awkwardgturtle



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: AU where everyone is happy, M/M, except Varian who continues to roll in his grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardgturtle/pseuds/awkwardgturtle
Summary: “Ah, my dear king,” Wrathion says when they're gone, his voice almost a purr, meaning he's definitely up to something. “What a pleasure to see you here.”Anduin raises an eyebrow. “It… is my castle. You know that, right?”He waves a hand as if it's of no consequence. “Of course, of course.”“And that that's my throne you're sitting on.”





	

Anduin hasn't seen Wrathion all day. He supposes it's not an uncommon thing with their vastly differing agendas, but something about today with all of the war meetings and trade negotiations has him crawling out of his skin and Wrathion… Honestly, Wrathion has an equal chance to make it better or worse, depending on how insufferable he plans to be. But no matter how much he needs him, he doesn't expect he'll run into Wrathion until he's already retired to his bedchambers and the dragon slips under the covers, almost too warm but always reassuring.

What he definitely doesn't expect to find as he wanders toward the war room to check on some reports is Wrathion lounging on the Lion Seat, speaking in some kind of code - one that Anduin knows Matthias is pulling his hair out trying to translate - to one of his Blacktalons. Once they have their orders, the rogue bows sharply and exits swiftly, passing Anduin without a word or eye contact. The large, heavy door closes behind them.

“Ah, my dear king,” Wrathion says when they're gone, his voice almost a purr, meaning he's definitely up to something. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

Anduin raises an eyebrow. “It… is my castle. You know that, right?”

He waves a hand as if it's of no consequence. “Of course, of course.”

“And that that's  _ my  _ throne you're sitting on.”

Wrathion's eyes flash with mischief as he shifts to hook his legs over one arm of the throne, lounging more thoroughly. “So it is. I must say, it is quite comfortable. It suits me rather well.” His eyelids lower. “I really should sit on more things of yours.”

Anduin pointedly ignores the double entendre and crosses his arms. “Suited or not, you really shouldn't be there.”

“Then I suppose you'll have to get me off.” That one was definitely on purpose.

Anduin smirks at the challenge and strides up to him. “You know I can.”

“I want you to.”

Anduin reaches down, arms winding around Wrathion's lean body, seeking purchase to physically lift Wrathion from the throne, but before he can, Wrathion is carding a hand through his hair and kissing him slowly, languidly. It's all Anduin can do to suppress a groan. Wrathion is certainly in a mood, and he knew exactly how to drag Anduin down into that mood with him. It doesn't help that Anduin's been longing to touch him since he woke this morning.

“Are you going to give me something else to sit on, my beloved King?” Wrathion purrs against Anduin's lips.

He can't deny the jolt that shoots through him at such lustful words, but he forces himself to think through it. The massive doors to the throne room are closed and locked, as they tend to be outside of petitioning hours, but it's a central room to the keep and there are at least four other ways for someone to wander in on their activities. He's stuck until Wrathion rolls his hips ever so slightly and then he immediately begins to cast barriers over the entrances. Since becoming lovers with Wrathion, he certainly has come up with some creative uses for the Light.

“That depends,” Anduin says, using his unoccupied hand to begin working at Wrathion’s clothes. “Are you are prepared?”

Wrathion smirks, making no move to assist in the process. “Beloved Anduin, I am likely prepared for far more that you will think to do to me.”

With that, Wrathion wraps himself around Anduin and, in a smooth, serpentine move, flips them around so that Anduin is sitting on the throne and Wrathion is grinning over him and grinding against him without an ounce of shame. Eager anticipation is making Anduin's fingers fumble at the many buckles and buttons and ties, but as always, the dragon is more interested in making a show of himself than helping. He's groaning low at the friction he's making and exposing his throat so very alluringly that Anduin's mouth and teeth are upon it without a second thought. It was almost alarming how easily Wrathion could manipulate him this way, but he supposes that he can't be blamed for knowing what he wants and exactly how to get it.

Finally,  _ finally _ the last of his clothes fall away to reveal expanses of smooth, dark skin. Faint webs of scarring can be seen upon close inspection, like lay lines across his flesh. Anduin thinks that there's beauty in the pattern, in the story they tell, in how they match his own injuries from the Bell. He wants to map them out with his fingers, trace them with his tongue, but Wrathion scorns any prolonged attention to them, so he instead runs his hands over the bare torso, relishing how Wrathion arches into it as if he's starving for the contact.

“Ah, Anduin,” he sighs, the name falling through his lips like it's something precious to him. It must be, seeing how rare it is that Wrathion calls him by his name. No endearments, no title, just the name. “Anduin, I want you to...” He leans forward to capture Anduin's mouth in a heated kiss, but the hand that isn't fisted in the King's tunic is rooting around behind him, searching for something amidst the decorations adorning the throne.

He makes a triumphant noise and pulls back, holding up a bottle of lubrication he must have hidden there at some point. Redness slowly creeps into Anduin's face as he gives a mind to if someone had found it. Worse, if  _ he  _ had found it while attending to champions and petitioners on his own throne and trying to hide both embarrassment and arousal. The thoughts dissolve when Wrathion's lips brush his ear. “Fuck me, my King.”

“Holy Light,” Anduin gasps as he takes the lube from Wrathion. He feels his fingers tingle slightly as he prepares them, as if the Light can't tell whether he’s honestly calling for it or not. He smiles and lets the feeling grow as he slides his fingers down from Wrathion's lower back to pressing gently into his ass.

Wrathion curses softly at the sensation, his hands braced tightly on Anduin's shoulders. He meets Anduins eyes, his eyelids heavy with lust as he meets the press of his fingers eagerly. “Such a sinful use of such a holy power,” he teases.

Anduin blinks in mock innocence as he moves to a second finger. “I could use shadow instead if you think it’d be more fitting.”

“Mmm, perhaps some other time,” Wrathion says, “sometime when I am spread out over your bed and completely at your mercy.”

Anduin's hips buck at the image of Wrathion, arms restrained above his head as he arches into purple tendrils of shadow winding around his body.  _ At your mercy _ , Wrathion says as if he isn't the one completely in control, even when he's bound like that. One day, he'll have to wrest that control from him when he expects it least.

A hiss of mixed pain and pleasure escapes the dragon when the third slips into him perhaps a bit too soon, but Anduin doesn't slow like he used to before knowing that Wrathion relishes in a little pain. He watches the smooth motions of Wrathion's body as he fucks himself on Anduin's fingers. His cock is brushing across Anduin's overcoat with every movement until Anduin takes hold of it with his free hand causing a visible tremor of pleasure to race through Wrathion, but he can't do much else before Wrathion reaches down to tug at Anduins pants. He lets go and lifts his hips to allow him to pull them down just enough to free his straining cock. Wrathion wastes no time in turning himself around so his back is pressed firmly to Anduin's chest, murmuring in another language.

Anduin doesn't know much draconic, but he catches snippets including his name and “please” and from the way Wrathion wantonly writhes in his lap, it's easy enough to discern exactly what he's asking for. Sinking slowly into Wrathion, Anduin lets out a long moan that echoes loudly off the vaulted ceilings of the chamber, entwined with Wrathion's own satisfied noises as he sits the rest of the way. 

They stay just like that for a moment, Wrathion leaning back against his chest, panting and impaled on Anduin's cock, but smiling lazily as if basking in the afternoon sun. He lets out a purr when Anduins hands wander over him again. Every other time, Anduin fights against Wrathion, never wants him to have the satisfaction of letting him have his way. when he's like this, however, with Anduin is deep inside him, he wants nothing more than to bend to the dragon's whim. And indeed, Wrathion is more than happy to simply let Anduin pleasure him. He asks for nothing, demands nothing, but Anduin would twist himself in knots to give him everything he needs.

Eventually, Wrathion is the one that moves first, rolling his hips lazily, but the sweet wave of motion has Anduin seizing his hips and dragging him back onto his cock. Wrathion groans and grips the arms of the throne, using them as leverage as he repeats the movement, soon falling into a steady rhythm.

“Ah, yes, Anduin,” he moans when Anduin hits a spot that make his thighs tremble under the King's fingers. “Just like this. Want you to remember this every time you sit upon your throne.”

Anduin laughs breathlessly. As if he’d ever be able to forget the lines of muscles on Wrathion's back working as he rides his dick with fervor, or the panting  _ ah’s  _ and  _ oh’s  _ when Anduin thrusts up just right. When he's hiding awkward erections from his advisors and champions, he'll curse Wrathion's name, but right now is too incredible to regret.

“Anduin,” he pants again. “Anduin, I…”

The sentence is cut off with a cry when Anduin reaches for his cock, pumping it along with their desperate grinding. Wrathion bucks into his hand as he does, disrupting their rhythm as he seeks his own release, his voice and body both trembling with the need for it. He finds it soon enough, cursing and coming hot over Anduin's hand a few strokes later. Anduin fucks him through it, fighting against Wrathion's body going slack against him as he comes down from his orgasm.

Wrathion lolls his head back against his shoulder, turned just enough so he can press kisses into Anduin's neck. Anduin tries to angle himself to kiss back, but he's off by a lot, managing only to catch the corner of his lips, but he's too far gone to care or correct it. He comes gasping into Wrathion's cheek, his fingertips digging into those sharp hips hard enough for the dragon to make a half-hearted noise of objection.

For a while they stay lying back on the throne, both boneless and slowly catching their breath until Anduin gains the presence of mind to pull out of the dragon's ass. Without a word, Wrathion pulls a cloth from some other stash he’d made among the opulent adornments of the Lion Seat - Light forbid anyone examine it closer than a passing glance, Anduin thinks but says nothing of it - and cleans them just enough as to not be uncomfortable. He then turns so he can lie more comfortably in Anduin's lap, one leg propped on one of the lion decorations as Anduin lazily traces over the beginnings of bruises his fingertips made. He thinks about healing them despite Wrathion teasing him last time he did so, accusing him of being afraid to be rough with him. That lasted about long enough for Anduin to prove how rough he could be.

Anduin smiles at the dragon stretching out like a content cat, dozing lightly. Contrary to what he’d said before, he can't help but think that Wrathion does belong on his throne.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of trivia: The working title of this fic was "Save A Throne, Sit On His Dick"


End file.
